Valentine Morgenstern
by brynnthehuman
Summary: Just 5 very short stories showing Valentine's thoughts throughout the years.
1. The Wedding

Valentine stood in the hallway, uncharacteristically nervous. He wondered what his father would say about this, probably something about how warriors do not recognize nervousness, as it is hardly heroic to succumb to such weakness. Shaking his head, Valentine pushed the thought of his father out of his mind and straightened the cuffs of his suit. This was a beginning, he didn't want to think about the past right now.

Squaring his shoulders, Valentine walked forward and pushed open the doors to see Jocelyn smiling at him, her golden dress and red hair illuminated by the sunlight coming through the skylight. There was a feeling in his chest, a sort of giddiness, that Valentine let bloom throughout the ceremony. He almost felt it on his face as the pair exchanged runes. Jocelyn's ethereal face held a smile, her slim fingers deftly tracing the rune on Valentine that would mark him as her husband. He looked into her green eyes and marveled inwardly at how lucky he felt, how everything had fallen into place in this part of his life since Jocelyn first kissed him.

When the ceremony was finished, Valentine reached for Jocelyn's hand and they walked to greet everyone. They talked to Jocelyn's parents, Granville and Adele, who smiled and congratulated them. Valentine thought he saw some concern on their faces during the ceremony, after all, but they seemed wholly pleased now. They loved Jocelyn enough that, even if they were against the union, they would have shown up to the ceremony. He wondered, briefly, if his own mother would have voiced any concern at him marrying at 19. He had seen no reason to wait-he loved Jocelyn, that wouldn't change-why not get married? Seraphina had been supportive of Valentine, her only child, and he doubted that, even if she had disapproved, she would have mentioned it.

Seeing Lucian, Valentine tried to catch his eye, but the other boy was exiting the hall already. Valentine wondered if Lucian was unwell, he'd looked a bit pale lately, but even if he was ill, Valentine knew nothing would have stopped Lucian from coming to the wedding. Parabatai were bound, and Valentine knew that nothing would stop him from going to Lucian's wedding, should he get married. His thoughts continued to spiral around Lucian, wondering what it was that felt like a block in their relationship, and if it was something Valentine ought to pursue, or if it would go away on its own.

Jocelyn stopped to talk to Amatis, who held a camera, and Valentine pulled himself out of his reverie to see Stephen smiling at him, and Valentine felt himself smile back-he could hardly help it, he felt like he finally had a family again. The Circle was his extended family, of course, but Valentine needed someone right next to him, someone that wasn't his parabatai, someone that could choose to leave him but wouldn't.


	2. The Birthday

"Jonathan, do you know that your birthday is coming soon?" Valentine said to his foster son as he approached the boy in the library at the Wayland manor.

"Yes, father." Jonathan said, his golden eyes meeting Valentine's black ones.

"What would you like?" Valentine wondered what he'd say, he liked so many different things. He was unlikely to ask for weapons like his biological son, who enjoyed inhuman cruelty at a young age. This Jonathan showed enjoyment from music and reading, as well as training. Traits that made Valentine feel protective of him, trying to be the best father he could, given the circumstances.

The boy looked thoughtful before saying, "I would like to take a bath in spaghetti, father."

Valentine felt his eyebrows raise, along with the corners of his mouth, but turned his expression serious, "That will be arranged."

Jonathan smiled, and Valentine turned away from the admiration in the boy's eyes. He walked to his study, later hearing piano notes float through the door as Jonathan played the piano.

On the day that marked the sixth anniversary of Valentine and Hodge carefully cutting the Herondale baby out of Céline's womb, Valentine watched as the boy played gleefully in a tub of pasta. Sometimes, Valentine imagined his life another way, in a world where Jocelyn hadn't left him, hadn't taken their second, unborn child away from Idris.

Jonathan's blind love was something that Valentine felt he did not deserve. He especially did not feel like he deserved it when he punished the boy for doing something wrong, but he tried to raise both boys equally, including corporal punishment. His biological son required punishing much more frequently, though he never cried from the demon wire, not even as a small child. Valentine had a clinical interest in the boy, but he was also repulsed, for the boy had nothing behind his eyes but malice, and Valentine's demon hunting nature screamed every time he'd held Jonathan as a baby and taught the boy as he grew.


	3. The Picture

Valentine paced his study, running his hands through his thick silvery hair. He took a picture from his desk, one that Amatis had taken of him and Jocelyn, right after they'd gotten married. 19-year-old Valentine was holding 18-year-old Jocelyn, and Valentine remembered the way he felt anchored to the world, as if nothing could tear him away.

Sighing, he took the photograph out of the frame, setting the frame back on the desk before walking to the fireplace and tossing the photograph into the flames.

Blackwell and Pangborn would come to kill "Michael Wayland" in a few days, and after that, Valentine didn't know who would come to Wayland manor, and he could not afford to be sloppy.

"What did you read about today?" Valentine asked, as he walked into the music room and his appearance made Jonathan cease playing and look up.

"I read the assigned Latin, and I read about old mundane assault tactics used in wars."

"Good, well done, Jonathan."

"Thank you, father." Jonathan bowed his head at the praise, and Valentine realized he would miss the boy more than he thought. He was a bright child, though he was too soft to be the soldier son Valentine was looking for. Feeling something tighten slightly, he hoped Robert Lightwood was a good father.

"Jonathan, I am not going to go to Wayland manor anymore."

Jonathan's eyes glittered, "You got rid of the other boy?"

"Something like that." Valentine had felt sick since he faked his death, almost as if he had sustained a real injury. He knew that Jonathan was safely with the Lightwoods, and yet, he worried for the boy's well being.

"Was he not obedient?"

Looking at his son with distaste, Valentine replied, "It is none of your concern. Get back to your reading."

"Why do I have to read this boring mundane book? Can't I just train until I am the best?"

"You have to learn from the mistakes of others. Warriors are not just skilled on the battlefield."

Jonathan looked skeptical, but he kept quiet.


	4. The Visit

Valentine walked through the Silent City with Maellartach, swiftly killing the Silent Brothers he met along the way. When he got to the prison and looked into one of the last cells, he saw his foster son lying on the floor, "Jonathan."

"Is anyone there?"

"Surely you recognize your own father, Jonathan." The rune Valentine had drawn on himself to help see in the dark was hard pressed in this darkness, though he watched as Jonathan tried to stand and slipped, falling hard on the floor. He took his witchlight out of his pocket, "Are you hurt?"

"That thing, where is it?" Jonathan asked.

Valentine took in the way Jonathan's hand was limp in the manacle, the bruising around his wrist, "You are hurt. Who ordered you locked up here? Was it the Clave? The Lightwoods?"

"It was the Inquisitor." Of course, Imogen Herondale would punish Jonathan for things he had no knowledge of, simply because of association. Valentine felt anger that Jonathan-who went by Jace now-was mistreated for no reason, and amusement because Imogen surely didn't know that Jonathan was her grandchild, and she was causing his current suffering.

In moments of weakness, Valentine wished that this Jonathan was his biological son and that he had never done what he did to Jonathan while he was in Jocelyn's womb. He wondered if Jocelyn would have left if their Jonathan was not part demon.

Squatting, Valentine spoke again, "The Inquisitor and the Clave are one and the same. And the Lightwoods should never have allowed this to happen. I would never have let anyone do this to you."

"Did you come down here to kill me?" Jonathan had hunched against the wall, looking frightened in a way that Valentine hadn't seen in him since he was a small child.

"Kill you? Why would I want to kill you?"

"Well, why did you kill Jeremiah? And don't bother feeding me some story about how you just happened to wander along after he spontaneously died. I know you did this."

Wondering why he ought to have to explain himself to a child, Valentine decided to just be honest with the boy, "I did kill him, and the rest of the Silent Brothers as well. I had to. They had something I needed."

"What? A sense of decency?" The look of defiance was at odds with the obvious pain Jonathan was in, and Valentine decided to not let the jab sink in. Of course, Jonathan would have changed in more than half a decade of living with the Lightwoods, but Valentine's more paternal instincts hoped he wasn't so snarky to Maryse and Robert.

After he left, hearing Jonathan's plea, "father, please" echoing in his head, Valentine reflected on who he had just talked to. Jonathan was not the same as Valentine remembered. He was a warrior now, stoic and brave. The traces of the golden little boy were gone, replaced by a trained and capable Shadowhunter. Valentine wondered about the time between, wondered if Jonathan still played the piano, still loved so fully without restraint.


	5. The Clothes

"I'll send you the sizes I need." Valentine said through the phone, "Jewel tones are optimal. No pants."

"Okay, I'll get the clothes to you as soon as possible, sir."

Hanging up the phone, Valentine entered a small store with minimalist window displays.

"Benvenuto, signore." An older man appeared and stood near a counter.

Not wishing to speak in Italian, Valentine said, "I need to be measured, and I would like to order some suits for myself and my son."

The older man nodded, approaching him with measuring tape. Valentine involuntarily stiffened while being measured, he hadn't had anyone that physically near to him in some time.

When the personal shopper's promise had been fulfilled and the clothes were delivered, Valentine went into one of the empty rooms of the apartment, opening the wardrobe and hanging the dresses and blouses. He put the camisoles and underwear in drawers, noting that the colors were vibrant and they would suit Jocelyn very well.

Valentine looked into Jonathan's room, where clothes and weapons were thrown everywhere haphazardly. He'd always been messy, ever since he was a child. The other Jonathan, Jace, never had that issue. Valentine always thought it a bit peculiar how neat he was, but felt that there were much worse things than a tidy boy.

No pictures marked the decade he had raised Jace as his own, just as there were no pictures of Jonathan. Valentine didn't buy paintings either, there weren't any artists accessible with a style he enjoyed. The apartment walls were bare, just as the house in the valley where Jonathan was raised had been.

Valentine wondered if Jocelyn still painted. He remembered the dreamy look in her eyes as she took in landscapes, the same dreamy look present when she painted them. He hadn't been introduced to any art besides the art of fighting, but it fascinated him to see other Shadowhunters excel in fields besides demonhunting. Jace had picked up on the piano at a young age-Michael Wayland had books to help the process along-Valentine enjoyed hearing the progress as Jace grew.

Jonathan, on the other hand, lacked the patience that came with learning. He enjoyed fighting, but that was it. Valentine never saw him read for pleasure, or do anything that couldn't potentially inflict pain. With the exception of his coloring and slim hands, Valentine didn't think Jonathan seemed like a product of him and Jocelyn. He was a product of what Valentine had done to him before he was born, the inky blood that ran through his veins.


End file.
